Heart of Darkness
by Sophy
Summary: A John and Deb fic based on "When Night Meets Day" and "Kisangani".
1. Chapter One

He looked over the chart, reading the line of printed words and scribbled orders. Once. Twice. He narrowed his eyes at the darkened scrawls, as though it was a problem of clarity rather than processing. Thrice. And he was still reading the same line. 

Carter looked up at the gentle calling, the image forming in front of him out of focus from all the squinting. The warmness of her smile, however, was unmistakable. 

he returned, a faint smile now tickling his features. 

Are you off yet? 

With a soft sigh and weary shake of the head, he meekly answered, One last patient. He halfheartedly gestured at the chart, his arm feeling unusually heavy. Sensing her careful eyes on him, he forced himself to peruse the chart once more. 

He was massaging the side of his head, yearning for the pulsing ache to go away when, suddenly, he felt the paper shift upwards as the chart slipped out from his grasp. 

But already, all he could see was her petite silhouette briskly walking away. Waking from his torpor, he hustled after her. 

Dr Weaver, he finally heard her say as she approached the fiery chief of staff, Carter isn't feeling well and he was wondering if he could sign off his last patient to you. 

With a wince, Carter could only back up as fast as he had run after her, not wanting Weaver to see him for herself. 

And he couldn't do that in person? he heard Weaver ask in suspicion. 

He's _really_ not feeling well. 

There was a pause before a conceding, but distinctly annoyed, 

The words of the remainder of the conversation fading behind him, he swiftly crossed the admit space and pushed the door to the lounge. Stopping in the silent darkness, he shook his head, as though in disapproval, though he couldn't deny the wave of relief warming his limbs. He went to his locker, mechanically spinning the dial on the lock. And it came: the slow, sullen smile. 

Suddenly, a shockwave of sound came in as she had opened the door. The noise soon dwindled as the door shut in a smooth backswing. 

You're welcome. 

Carter opened his locker before turning to smile at her. She was looking at him, her eyes twinkling in the dark, an amused grin visibly discernable. 

It was just one patient, he protested, almost reproachfully. 

She was watching him, still amused. Remember last time I asked you to take in one last patient? she asked slyly. 

He nodded, letting out a slow laugh. And he thought about that night—his longest shift in recent memory—and deemed that if she could find humor in it now, surely he could too. he countered with mock-wisdom, but there wasn't a disastrous rock concert tonight. 

Her pleasant laugh was now reverberating softly through the empty lounge. 

He continued gathering the last of his belongings before finally murmuring, You didn't have to do that. Really. Grabbing his coat and leather bag, he closed his locker and shut the lock in a quiet _click_. He was facing her now, silently smiling. 

John, your eyes were glazing over that chart. 

He was about to protest when he realized there was nothing to protest. And so he laughed. 

Come on, she encouraged softly. Let's get out of here. 

Carter followed her as she pushed the door open, sluggishly pulling his feet one in front of the other, each step requiring a mental effort. Drained and tired, a sole wish was inhabiting his thoughts: he wanted to get to the doors, wanted them to slide open so that he could feel the air outside and so that he could get away. On their way out, however, he caught Weaver's eyes at the admit desk. His own eyes dropping to the floor, he felt the maddening reddening of his features. Quickly forcing himself to choke up a cough, he guiltily turned his back on her. 

Take care, Carter, he heard her yell out. And good luck. 

He coughed again, acknowledging her best wishes with a slight gesture of the hand and wearily made his out the sliding doors of the ambulance bay. 

She had, meanwhile, already slipped out and he saw her waiting, her raven hair swirling about in the funneling wind of the bay. A thin, laughing smile was dancing on her lips. 

he asked, suddenly unable to battle the contagion of her smile. 

she mocked, mimicking his innocent tone. Thankfully you're a doctor—not an actor, she quipped, nudging at the doors behind which he had feigned his fictitious sickness with disconcerting doubt. 

Carter could feel his face coloring slightly but laughed nonetheless. I'm just too honest, he said airily, while fumbling with the collar of his coat in mock pompousness. 

she retorted, shoving him playfully and chuckling heartily. 

They were standing immobile in the ambulance bay, the daylight warming their skin. She had turned away from him now, her eyes gazing ahead. He followed her gaze to finally have his own eyes meet the burned down ruins of Doc Magoo's: darkened wood shafts strewn on the site like matches chaotically fallen from an open box. They stood silent for a while as he reached inside his coat pocket, a habit instilled in him by the continuous wear of their doctor's coat. His fingers unexpectedly met with the smooth, cold contours of a penny. Feeling the embossed relief on it, he frowned, wondering how it arrived there. Soon he remembered seeing it near the el tracks, just that morning. It had been matte, its once shiny glitter reduced to a poor coppered brown. Nobody else had seen it, evidently. But he had found it—the way his eyes had usually found the floor of late. But Carter was never the one to be superstitious, and usually would have kicked it away. And yet, something that morning had compelled him to pick it up and slip it inside his pocket. 

Did you have anything to eat yet? she inquired, suddenly ushering him back to reality. 

He turned to her, blinking as though to remind himself where he was. Between his last minute packing and the last half-shift he owed Weaver, he hadn't given much thought to his stomach. Truthfully, in his distracted reading and re-reading of charts, he hadn't realized just how hungry he had grown. 

Actually, no, he answered. 

If you're not too tired, maybe you want to grab a bite? 

She had directed her head towards the other side of the street, a few buildings away from the ruins, where he noticed the panel of a small dinner that had caught her eye. 

Carter nodded in acquiescence before walking up next to her, crossing the street at her side. His feet still felt heavy and he still felt as though he had to will each of his limbs to move, but he had found a slight, new lightness in his step. Unthinkingly, he felt his head turn back as he gave one last look at the ambulance bay behind, a strange tightness tapering his throat. 

They soon arrived at the small restaurant, cramped in space and shabby in décor. The bells attached to the door tinkled at their entry as a waitress motioned them to an empty booth near the windows. 

He quickly sat down, sliding down the peach-tinted vinyl bench and watched her as she put her bag at the end of her seat and gingerly slipped off her coat. She quickly folded it in half and placed it beside her. A smile grew on his face. Manically ordered, Carter thought with an interior laugh, his eyes never leaving her. Soon, she was facing him, looking at his intent gaze with a slightly bemused expression. 

He cleared his throat, trying hard to sound detached. he inquired. 

He saw her color slightly but soon, she furrowed her eyebrows. So what? 

What's this about? he asked, smiling despite his seriousness. 

She smiled back, but he could see how she grew uneasy. Nothing. Can't I take you out for a bite without dark, ulterior motives? 

He watched her fingering with the napkin in front of her, her eyes meeting the table cloth instead of his own. 

he started, doctor, not actor. Remember? 

And she finally looked up, wincing playfully. So I'm that transparent? 

he teased. I just like to think I read you well. 

She laughed as the waitress came over, handing them plasticized menus. They both thanked her before he watched her sit back. 

She sighed. I just wanted to save you from the claws of fatigue so I made you end early and I'm now having a bite with you. 

Very eloquent, he quipped, mimicking an impressed look. 

She grimaced, evidently seeing the lies wouldn't convince him today. He could see her awkwardness, and though he had a strong suspicion as to the true nature of her motivations, somehow he felt compelled to push her. He couldn't explain it: it was as though he needed to hear it. From somebody—anybody. 

They had both returned to perusing the menus, reading the generic meal items but not registering the words. 

she finally let out, with mock exasperation. He watched her let go of the menu as she timidly lifted her eyes to his. If I'm not going to see you for weeks, the least you owe me is half and hour and a burger. 

He suddenly frowned, while holding her glance. He knew she had just wanted to give him a timely goodbye, but he hadn't anticipated the bluntness of her statement. A little taken aback, he silently dropped his head before mumbling a barely audible, You know, I wasn't just going to slip out on you. 

she said slowly, with a mixture of sadness and joke, if I was lucky, maybe you'd think to call me on your cell on the way to the airport only to find that your batteries are dead from talking with Abby. 

His eyebrows furrowed at the mention of her name as he swallowed hard. Carter thought of correcting her, maybe explaining it to her, when he realized the explanations eluded his very own comprehension. And so he caught himself, disinclined to open that painful route of conversation. Instead, he went along with her assumptions. I'd bring a back-up phone, he quipped slyly, masking his troubled thoughts. 

Yeah, you better rich boy. 

And this time, he couldn't hold off the laughter. You're the only one who could get away with that. 

Hence my doing so. And she laughed too. 

There was a moment of silence as they once more picked up the menus—more by habit than for actual purpose. 

It's nice to see you smile again, she finally uttered, her concerned but warm eyes resting on him. 

He lifted his eyes and sheepishly nodded. It did feel nice, he thought. 

Don't thank me. 

He was taken aback by her anticipation, anticipation that should have been expected by now. And yet, he was surprised every time. 

I'm not crediting you for making me smile, you know, he taunted. I was just being gracious and wanted to thank you for the compliment. 

In the space of a few minutes, he had smiled and laughed more than in all the weeks before. 

The waitress soon came over, armed with a pen and notepad, dirt marks on her otherwise immaculate apron that was set off by the light cherry-colored uniform. 

Are you ready to order yet? 

They glanced at each other, simultaneously answering, Not yet before Carter asked her for some coffee to start. 

The coffee promptly came and they silently watched the dark rivers of liquid being poured into the spotless white cups. 

I didn't expect you to come in today, she said flatly. 

Somehow, in her flatness of tone, she had summoned a new wave of guilt onto him. He felt his cheeks warming and found himself searching for the right words amongst the sea of letters dancing in his mind. I didn't tell you, he suddenly stammered, apologetically. I mean, I didn't know I was going to work— 

He had mumbled the last bit, which mimicked the nature of the very thoughts in his head. Carter took a breath in an attempt to clear up what he wanted to say, first to himself and then to her. Finally, he put it as plain as he could: I told Weaver suddenly that I was leaving for two weeks; she had to rearrange all the schedules so the least I owed her was a half-shift before— 

She nodded. Before you slipped out on me. 

He winced. Truly, that's what he would have done. 

He suddenly felt like he still owed her an explanation, but before he could utter another word, she quickly changed the subject. 

Greg found a first aid kit, she said, nudging outside where they could see the burned carcass of Doc Magoo's. The last thing left standing. 

Taken aback by the sudden turn in conversation, he could only manage a faint nod. 

I wonder if Trina's going to be okay, she said thoughtfully, still staring at the site. 

He looked at her, suddenly remembering what had happened, a new wave of guilt sweeping over him. 

I'm sorry—I shouldn't have brought you here… 

she said firmly, I suggested this place. Still wanting to interrupt her, Carter opened his mouth but she went on, Besides, you can't run away from places forever just because they hold memories. 

She had said that last bit hurriedly, with marked premeditation. And he caught it. Never to be the didactic one, he finally saw her aim. 

The Congo's a good opportunity for me, Deb… He quickly stopped, seeing the flaw in his opening statement. They need somebody, he quickly corrected himself. I can help. I'm not— 

No, I know, she interrupted him. I'm just saying that when you come back, your problems are still going to be here— 

Flushing madly and feeling oddly betrayed, he interrupted, Of course I— 

But she had held up her hand, stopping him short. Let me finish. And she drew a breath before concluding, When you come back your problems are still going to be here, John. And she paused for emphasis. But so will be the people who care about you. 

Her voice had grown faint as she had slightly dropped her head, looking down at the table. 

Carter's own eyes dropped down to look at his cup, the now cold, dark liquid resting in its white cradle. The ebony-colored waters swirled about as he mindlessly inclined the cup from side to side. Of course he was aware of it, he mused. Only, hearing her say it made it different: as though it was worth believing. 

In an almost inaudible whisper he murmured, I know. 

Returning to their musing ways, they sat quietly, sipping their coffee. 

Carter looked out the window to see the careless, coming and going of pedestrians and the busy flow of traffic rolling continuously up and down the avenue. He was fixing something in the distance now, his thoughts miles away. 

I miss her, Deb, he heard himself say. He hadn't meant to say it, but it had slipped out. 

And she looked up, her look warm with empathy. I know you do. 

He put the cup down, unexpectedly feeling her hand reaching across the table to his trembling one. 

And he smiled sadly, feeling the warmth of her hand. 

You know she would have hated this. He was now looking at her with a sorrowed smile. She hated me being a doctor. She'd hate me being a doctor in the Congo. And he let out a sad laugh. 

The squeeze on his hand grew stronger. He saw her: how she cast an intent look at him before murmuring, I think she would have been proud. 

She had let go of his hand now, but for minutes more, Carter could still feel the warmth tingling in his fingers. 

There were sounds of brisk footsteps that suddenly stopped beside them. The waitress had returned, pen and paper out. Can I take your order? 

He cleared his throat, blinking away a suddenly-come blur and replied, Yes. Two burgers please, and he turned to Deb before continuing, and half an hour more. 

The waitress turned back, slightly puzzled, but only managed a dismissing shrug, leaving an echo of playful laughter behind her. 


	2. Chapter Two

She listened to the rhythmic patter of raindrops against the window sill. Her eyes were attentively following the path of a drop on the glass as it slowly descended, engulfing other drops of water along its course. The drop would travel slowly, until it assimilated others whereby it would gain speed, streaming downward to a final halt when it hit the edge of the window. With nowhere left to go, the water would leak horizontally, spreading across the ridge where some of the clear liquid managed to trickle through inside. 

Depressing, huh? Susan sat down beside her, visibly exhausted. First time in four hours straight that I've been able to sit down. 

With a soft laugh, Jing-Mei turned around, detaching herself from the lounge window. How about first time in five hours? she teased defiantly. 

Brushing aside a few strands of golden hair that had gone astray on her face, Susan sighed heavily. I'd have a witty retort—but I'm just too tired. And she fell back, closing her eyes. 

Jing-Mei slouched back too, weary but of something else than fatigue. 

Impeccable timing, really, Susan murmured, drowsily. Jing-Mei had turned to her, her uncomprehending dark eyes prompting Susan to elaborate. Luka, Carter, she explained in broken sentences. _Of course_ they had to go on their philanthropic voyage when half of Chicago converges to an unofficial ER party. 

She couldn't repress a smile. Endless shifts. Never-ending lists of patients. She couldn't deny the exhaustion—but neither could she deny the thrill. The adrenaline-pumping moments were what she lived for, what she was good at. What had to be memorized with serious effort in her med school days now came with flowing ease and automatism. She didn't even have to think. 

Lately, however, she had felt weary, but of something other than the continuous five hours of life saving procedures. 

She closed her eyes harder, concentrating on the tapping of the rain. But even the violent whipping of raindrops against the window panes couldn't drown out the voices in her head. 

You're not worried? she finally let out, almost in spite of herself. 

Susan turned to her, eyes slowly opening as though from a long slumber. 

About Luka, she said thoughtfully, pausing. About Carter. 

The blonde smiled encouragingly before shrugging. Honestly, no. She frowned slightly, as though in deep thought before continuing, I know it's hard—I could never do it myself. But they're stronger than me, she said, now eyeing her with a slight grimace. They're big boys, Deb. 

Jing-Mei smiled hollowly. I know. But her voice faltered in its lack of conviction. Too tired to notice, Susan just nodded quietly. 

They could hear the muffled sounds of incessant activity behind the lounge doors, beckoning them to once again join the action. All the two doctors found to do, however, was to further slump into their lethargy. 

Do you know when they'll be back? she asked, trying to instill in her voice as much nonchalance as she could muster. 

Susan shrugged. Abby doesn't know. 

Jing-Mei frowned, bemused by the thought. She's not picking him up? 

There was a slight pause before an answer reached her. They kind of left on a bitter note, Susan explained drowsily. Carter's had it pretty rough of late. 

She nodded slowly, thoughtfully. They both fell silent again, each busy with their own thoughts and sense of slumber, respectively. Outside, the wind had picked up, sending drives of rain against the windows in violent, sporadic bursts.   


_'It's not Rio, but it's not here.'_  


The voice had risen from Susan's side, but barely uttered in an audible tone. 

she said, suddenly turning to the tired, golden-haired attending. 

That's what he told Abby before leaving. 

Jing-Mei's eyes shut tightly, creases of concentration appearing on her forehead as she tried hard to remember—and to forget. We had a rough shift that night, she finally uttered. 

she heard Susan sigh. But it wasn't just that. 

Of course she knew it too, but it was easier not to think of it. 

Doctor Lewis! 

The doors had suddenly swung open to the alarmed calls of Gallant. Mrs. Calloway is crashing! 

Susan promptly awoke from her stupor, hurriedly getting up and gave Jing-Mei a quick roll of the eyes that had already been anticipated by an encouraging smile. 

The doors shut back, leaving the lounge in its original darkness and stifling the wild sounds behind it. With a sigh, she went back to the window, the rain still streaming down the panes. She tried hard to focus on the drops and their furious plunge down the glass. This time, however, her mind wandered. 

She had her chance to say goodbye, she thought. She had given him an encouraging squeeze of the hand and she had listened to him about that day's shift—about Gamma. Yet, she had allowed for him to leave alone. 

Its really alright, Deb. I have people driving me. He had said it with all the undertones of one trying to find understanding in another whose family riches coerced them to take all driver services they could get. 

But she shouldn't have accepted it, she cursed herself interiorly. Watching the evenly grey sky stretching on for miles to the regular rumbling of thunder, she winced at the thought that she had failed him. 

Something was missing; she felt like she had slipped. The history of their friendship had always been able to withstand the drama in their respective lives. But somehow, this time, she felt like she hadn't been there enough. Maybe having gone with the assumption that Abby would be there for him, she has forsaken her own responsibilities, thinking that it would be enough. She could blame her lack of time on her relationship with Greg. But the truth was, lovers hardly replace friends and her time with Greg was far outweighed by the time she could have offered him a lending hand. She could have listened more. She could have asked more. 

Something had gone wrong, and she had let it happen. 

Ironically, they hadn't had a fight. And surely, if he were to show up the next day, she didn't doubt that they would be friendly. What was missing, exactly, she couldn't tell. There was no true word to accurately describe the feeling she was harboring—like sand that couldn't be stopped in a very wide hourglass. Or like water trickling down between cupped hands, no matter how tightly they are held together. 

The doors suddenly swung open with a blow of raucous noise. 

Doctor Chen— 

Jing-Mei turned around to the door, hand already lifted in the air to stop Gallant from going on. 

I know. 

And she hurried out, leaving the tear-stained window from the sky.   
  
                            _And I know  
                             I know I failed you   
                            And I hope  
                             I hope we get through   
                            Show me your hand again   
  
                             And I know  
                             I know I failed you   
                             And I hope  
                             I hope we get through   
                            Soul signed hand  
                             -Our Lady Peace, Bring Back the Sun
_


	3. Chapter Three

_'It's not Rio, but it's not here.'_   


She looked over the chart. Once, twice: her eyes glazing over. 

The chaos at the admit desk, the disorienting coming and going of staff and potential patients, the busy cacophony of warring voices: she was unfazed by it all. Instead, it was the cling and clatter of voices in her mind that was deafening her. 

Of course she had sensed his brokenness—but mostly in hindsight had she known how much worse it was than he had let on. And, she thought, she had let herself not see it. 

Dr Chen— 

She didn't know why she worried so much. Although the war-torn country would try him and put him in danger, her real fears weren't concerned with his physical safety. No, she mused, his greatest enemy had always been his mind. Her greatest concern, thus, was in what state he would come back to them. To her. Undeniably changed, but irreversibly shattered? 

Dr. Chen— 

She knew that, at the core, his trip was philanthropic in pursuit. He cared. From their early days in med school, as much as she had hated to admit it to herself back then, what set him apart wasn't his uncanny gift for medicine. He cared. John Truman Carter was the cliché, she thought with an interior laugh. He wanted to help people. Ironically, he had managed to become as non-cliché as he possibly could. 

But despite the noble motives, she still knew that he was running away.   


_'It's not Rio, but it's not here.'_   


From everything and everyone, he had run away. And she had let him. 

Dr. Chen! 

Jing-Mei turned around to see a reddening Jerry, his arms weighed down by piles of phone books. 

Can you—can you answer the phone? he asked breathlessly. 

Her eyes widening with surprise, she looked at the phone that was ringing noisily beside her. How long it had been ringing, she could only guess. She dropped the chart and pounced on the phone while clearing her throat. 

County General, ER. 

She was greeted by distant breathing and static: the sounds seemed to reach her from a long way off, covered in a dream-like muffle. 

she asked louder. 

She heard the echo of her voice and there was a slight delay before a faraway, but distinct voice reached her ear. 

His voice was unsure, she could feel the weariness in it. Mute with surprise, she only managed a faint, generic Everything alright? 

There was a meek laugh at the other end of the line. Always practical. 

She slowly recovered her senses and smiled. He couldn't see her, but she knew he'd feel it. 

She could hear him scrambling to find the words, meddling with clanking instruments at the same time. Listen, I really can't stay long and this is important. There was a timid pause before he asked, Is Abby there? 

Jing-Mei nodded to herself, and whispered, Yeah. I'll get her. 

Before she could press the hold button, however, his voice called her again. 

She fell silent, waiting. 

It's nice— he started brokenly. Hearing your voice. 

And she smiled, suddenly the worry lifting from her. You too. 

She pressed down the hold button, letting out a gulp of air. She hadn't realized, but she had held her breath during much of their exchange. 

Who is it? Jerry pressed, his arms now free from the paper bricks. 

She stared at the phone, the black arrow blinking wildly. Tell Abby John's on line two. 

Abby. Tell her Carter's on line two, she repeated calmly. 

With a slight furrow of the eyebrows, Jerry gave her one last glance before quickly disappearing toward one of the exam rooms.   


_'It's not Rio, but it's not here.'_   


But I'm here, she thought. Always. 

She watched the grey phone lying lifelessly on the desk: the arrow suddenly stopped blinking, sign that Abby had picked up. 


	4. Chapter Four

The balmy air swept across the beach, sending gentle ripples through the shallow waters near the shore. Soon, however, a rumbling wave came crashing, parts splintering onto the crags and rocks on the shore, but most sending foaming edges of surf across the shoals. 

Carter dug his feet into the soft sand, feeling the gentle warmth caressing his sole and tickling his toes. His eyes were fixing the endless blue-grey of the waters, stretching out into the dreamy horizon. 

There was nobody. 

The air was of a clement warmness. Nothing of the suffocating heat. The only sounds to reach him were those of crashing waves and rolling surf, interrupted only by sporadic cries of a lonely sea gull. Nothing of the bellows and screams—nothing of the bombs. There was a light salinity in the wind, filling his nostrils with soothing smoothness. Nothing of the acrid smell of blood—nothing of the haunting smell of death. 

Carter surveyed the length of the beach, squinting at the sharpness of the sun. 

There was nobody. 

All was beautiful and serene, filled with the sounds of the breaking surf. Everything was perfect. 

And so painfully empty. 

With a heavy sigh, Carter closed his eyes, lifting his head to the sky to feel the sun, his eyelids growing red from the light swimming across his face. But serenity he did not find. Taking a slow, deep breath, he finally grabbed the pair of shoes lying next to him and forced himself up. Dejectedly making his way through the soft, warm sand, he could still hear the rumble of the waves and foaming of the surf.   
  
_                             I feel just like I'm sinking  
                            And I claw for solid ground  
                            I'm pulled down by the undertow  
                            I never thought I could feel so low  
                            Oh darkness I feel like letting go
_   
  


Carter took a deep breath, holding on to his beaten, leather bag. The doors slid open as he slowly walked forward, weighing each of his steps along the way. And the doors closed back up, with the sound of a tightening seal. 

There was a low hum in the air, as though he was underwater and hearing voices beyond the surface. An uncanny brightness surrounded him, beams of white light assailing his sight. The air was remarkable in its inodorousness, unnoticeable ordinarily, but now noteworthy to his olfactory senses. 

All the sounds reaching him were muffled, quiet whispers creeping to his ears. 

He felt a slight pull at his coat and turned. 

So that's what it did to you? Make you hard of hearing? 

he whispered slowly, his own voice reaching his ears like a sleep-scratchy murmur. Leaning on her cane, Weaver pulled down her glasses and patted the side of his arm. I'm going to start you slow today. Don't take traumas unless we're short. 

He nodded, barely hearing her. 

she pressed, now leaning to look at him intently. 

he forced himself to say with more conviction. She gave him a slight smile before hurrying off to an exam room. And hey, he heard her holler, turning around. Welcome back, Carter! 

He smiled meekly before giving the place a sweeping look around. The blinding whiteness he had first seen soon came into focus. It was the same ER in which he had spent the last ten years of his life: sweating, bleeding. He knew every crack on the wall, every rut on the floor and yet, for a fortnight, he had forgotten it all. 

Carter willed his legs to bring him to the lounge. The lights were dimmer there, and he had to blink to get his eyes used to the darkness. He surveyed the row of lockers, as though trying to find his own, but instinctively fell on the familiar lock. Furrowing his eyebrows in an effort to remember his combination, he finally opened the door and found himself staring at its contents. Everything was there, just as he had left it. Unchanged and unmoved. He pulled off his jacket, hanging it on the back hook and grabbed his doctor's coat. Immaculate in its whiteness, he gingerly pulled his arms through its sleeves before snatching his stethoscope from the top shelf and letting it mould itself around the contours of his neck. With a swift push, he slammed the locker shut. 

Carter stepped out of the lounge, and again was greeted by the muffle of voices and shearing light. He went to the admit desk, eyeing the board attentively. Squinting at the writing, eyes darting from one line to the next and a pain mounting at his temple, he was about to turn back when an authoritative calling interrupted his musings. 

Dr. Carter, you're back. Pratt had popped up next to him, his sentence more of a self-statement than an actual greeting. Good trip? 

Carter heard himself mutter a but before he could say anything else, Pratt had shoved a chart onto him. Have fun. 

He looked at the chart, dizzied by the words, but soon found himself mindlessly heading towards a bed near exam one. 

A man was watching him come near, worry and dread straining his features. Carter flipped through the papers, seeing the words but not registering them. 

What seems to be the problem, Mr. Kendal? he asked mechanically. 

I've been feeling really weak lately…went on a business trip overseas and came back with something that felt like the flu. 

Carter was concentrating hard on his words, but as he watched the man's mouth opening and closing, all that reached him were distant echoes. 

Abby had come up, smiling. Need some help? 

He reciprocated the smile, slowly and effortfully. 

She watched his tired features, trying hard to maintain her encouraging smirk. Where were you? Searching his eyes with a soft look, she continued, I called your cell but you had turned it off. 

he apologized with automatism. I was at the beach—just killing time. 

It was probably nice out there. 

She gave him a tender smile before snatching the chart from him. CBC and Chem 7? 

He was staring at her, seemingly mesmerized. he let out unthinkingly. It won't be long, Carter finally offered the man before walking away with Abby. 

You okay? 

he winced, just a little slow getting started. 

Her smile grew wider. Just take it easy. She had turned, ready to tend to another patient before giving him one last grin. I'll see you later, okay? She had reached to touch his arm, giving it a heartening pat. 

Carter nodded, forcing a hollow smile. He watched her walk away, the blonde highlights in her hair glimmering under the glaring hospital lights. She had been sleeping so peacefully when he had come back, he thought, the slow rhythm of her breathing was the only thing that finally brought the notes of slumber onto him. And he wished that he too could have slept like that. Oddly, he suddenly heard the rumble of waves and the echo of the breaking surf. Shaking his head to physically elude the haunting noises, he swiftly walked away. 

And for a few hours, he continued. Listening to tales of headaches, flu symptoms, broken bones, open cuts. And he furrowed through charts, erased names on the board. And he healed them. 

"_On peut pas tous les sauver,_ Gillian had said. And yet this time, he had. 

He went to the admit desk, ready to wipe off another stranger's name when Weaver appeared, staring. 

Still here? 

He looked up, confused. 

I had you scheduled for a half-shift. 

Carter then went to the next logical target and glanced at his watch. Unable to remember when he had begun, it was a futile gesture. 

It's okay. Go home, Carter. Chen's coming in. 

It's just— he stammered, thinking hard. It went by quickly. 

You know…half-shifts, she replied matter-of-factly but with an encouraging smile. 

But that wasn't it, Carter thought as he headed back to the lounge. 

As mechanically as he had done earlier, he opened his lock, still fumbling with the numbers, took off his coat and grabbed his jacket and bag. Once, the pace of the ER had sent him gasping for air, battling nausea in the ambulance bay. Once, the cacophony of voices and monitors would have clanged in his head. Once, a half-shift would have felt like a full-shift. 

But County was slow compared to Kisangani, where time and darkness were life's very enemies. Natural elements weren't tamed and rendered into non-factors: they were to be contended with and battled against. He still remembered how it felt, all those hours manually pumping that boy's heart. The shots still rang in his ears; the screams still tore at his soul. And he remembered the bombs, he still heard the bombs, and he still saw the bodies strewn on the ground. This, he mused, thinking of the bustle outside the lounge doors, is silence. This is—nothing. 

Here, bureaucracy had proven to be their biggest enemy. Life itself was the harshest foe in the Congo. 

Suddenly feeling extremely weary, he stepped out of the lounge where he heard the underwater-like sounds once more. Hurriedly, he went for the doors, as though gasping for air. They slid open, smoothly and swiftly. 

The wind was whispering in a gentle breeze and he breathed in its freshness. It was already well into the summer, but it was as if the warm winds had lagged behind in its yearly migration. The mornings were warm, but the nights were more akin to spring than the usually muggy airs of Chicago summers. Carter suddenly felt awakened. He put his hands in his pockets, inhaling the air with eyes closed when his fingers suddenly fell on the polished edge of cold metal. A penny. He frowned, unable to place its origin: it was never his habit to carry loose change in his coat pocket. Fishing it out, he held it to the dim streetlights flooding the ambulance bay in its soft, golden glow. Clinging between his fore and middle finger, Carter watched its lackluster, worn down surface with careful eyes. Age and years of use had soiled its surface, but it was intact in its solidity. It was the way it always had been: constant. Slowly, he started remembering the el tracks and how, in what seemed to be a lifetime away— 

His musings were suddenly suspended by the unmistakable patter of gentle footsteps on the pavement. The sounds now reached him with startling clarity, a stark contrast to the muffled, drowned out voices he had vainly tried to listen all day. 

Slipping the penny back into his pocket, Carter found himself intently watching the corner of the building from where the sounds were emanating. Slowly, gradually, they grew louder and quicker. 

She had turned the corner before he knew it. Her eyes caught sight of him at once and were now fixing him, widening in the dark. Dark hair floating in the wind, she began to approach him, gingerly, timidly. Her dusky eyes were still watching him with the undeniable notes of wonder, as though he was some ghostly apparition. He wanted to speak, but he saw something else in her eyes that made him stop short: a deep, brewing sadness. 

Puzzled, all Carter found to do was mirror her stare, throat dry and hands clammy. He opened his mouth, finally, but in a moment of uncharacteristic spontaneity, he felt her arms encircling him. The embrace was subtle at first, as though she was gauging the reality of his presence. But the hug soon grew tighter, warmer. Surprised, all Carter found to do now was let out a small laugh. 

You're back, she finally whispered, her head buried in the flaps of his jacket. 

And front, Carter quipped smilingly. We're both here. 

He had strived to crack a joke, the emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He thought he heard her laugh, but her embrace didn't loosen. 

They stood quietly, wrapped in a calm silence before he felt compelled to break it. 

Deb, I'm not going anywhere. 

But she still held onto him, wordlessly, with the same might that one would use to battle the prospect of someone vanishing into thin air. Or shattering to pieces. 

Promise me, he heard her murmur. 

That you're not going anywhere. 

And all he found to do was rest his cheek on top of her raven hair, encircling her with his own arms.   
  
                            _Its just that we stayed, too long  
                            In the same old sickly skin  
                            I'm pulled down by the undertow  
                            I never thought I could feel so low  
                            Oh darkness I feel like letting go  
                             -Sarah McLachlan, Full of Grace 
_


End file.
